


tuesdays

by romanvacation



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, only brief mentions of chara & charlie, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 10:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20445404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanvacation/pseuds/romanvacation
Summary: there are lots of things he could wish for, but then he thinks about patrice, who deserves all the wishes in the world, and he blows the candles out with a single breath, a tiny swirl of smoke curling up into the air, and when he looks up again, everyone is clapping, and patrice has a smile on his face.





	tuesdays

**Author's Note:**

> this is for my lovely friend. happy birthday! you’re the best.

brad has an important job. he’s the first at the scene, the first to assess the situation and administer help. he’s the first chance some people have.

sometimes he loses track of how long he’s been working — days seem to blur into each other. he puts others before himself so often that he starts to forget his own needs — doesn’t realize how tired he is until he gets home after a long shift and collapses onto the couch.

but he loves his job. he loves it more than anything in the world.

it’s amazing. he’s seen so much, helped so many people, and every time his mom tells him how proud she is, brad has to look away for a second, blinking quickly to keep it together.

but sometimes it’s hard. there are times when he loses people — right there in front of him. it happens. that doesn’t mean it makes it any easier.

it wasn’t until maybe a year ago that his sister suggested that he go to some sort of counseling, and he was opposed to it at first, because absolutely nothing was wrong with him, but he eventually relented, telling himself he was only going to go to one. just one.

that was a year ago, and now, whenever he has the time, which is rare and certainly inconsistent, brad spends his tuesday nights in the basement of a church, sitting in a circle in those unreasonably uncomfortable metal chairs.

he doesn’t tell anyone about this, just because it’s embarrassing enough to have to talk about his feelings, so he keeps his sporadic visits to himself.

he walks in one tuesday, and he’s a little late, because traffic was bad and he needed emergency caffeine, and he pushes the door open with one hand, gripping his coffee tightly in the other, and maybe he’s a little later than he thought, because everyone in the circle has craned their necks to look at him.

the door clicks shut awkwardly behind him as he makes his way over to an empty chair and sits down, the metal squeaking underneath his weight. he leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and takes a sip from his cup.

zee, who runs the meetings, simply clears his throat and continues to speak to one of the attendees, someone brad hasn’t seen here before. he looks young, and when he starts to talk, it’s like brad can see him crumbling.

he has to look away.

“charlie,” the kid says, introducing himself. “mcavoy. i, uh...” he trails off, and zee gives him a reassuring nod, urging him to continue. “i lost my best friend. not long ago, actually.”

the rest of the group nods, and some understand more than others. brad just feels sorry for him. he’s one of the few people who have it lucky enough to never have experienced something like that — the loss of someone so close to you. there’s always some kind of distance for him.

“would anyone like to go next?” zee asks, and there’s a flash of a hand in the corner of brad’s vision, and all eyes turn to see who’s voluntarily decided to speak.

it’s a clean-cut kind of guy. he’s attractive, brad thinks, though he’s got dark crescents underneath his eyes, and there’s something about him that’s just strangely familiar, though he’s certain that he hasn’t been here before.

“i’m patrice,” he says, and his voice sounds tired when the words come out. “i lost a patient. a week ago now, i think.”

and it takes a second, but brad remembers why he feels like he’s seen this guy before. he’s a nurse. at the hospital. brad has seen him before.

which sends him into a kind of internal panic, really, because what if he recognizes him too, as paranoid as was. maybe patrice would be standing around the water tank with one of those stupid little paper cups, telling all his nurse friends about how he saw a pussy paramedic at counseling.

“were you close to them?” the kid — charlie — asks. his eyes are wide, like he’s sort of starstruck.

patrice nods, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “yeah,” he answers, and for once, brad sort of understands. “i knew him for almost a year, i think.”

and if the room wasn’t heavy enough already, there’s a sort of weight that settles in the air after he speaks, and brad inhales sharply, because the look on patrice’s face is so defeated, so upset, and he _knows_ that look.

it goes around like this for an hour or so. a couple people cry. a few don’t want to say much more than their names.

zee gives a “see you all next week,” and everyone stands up at once, with a collective exhale.

brad lingers for just a moment, wanting to say something to patrice, but he doesn’t know where to start. he’s moving towards the door when patrice seems to appear next to him, and he doesn’t say anything, but they push the doors open at the same time and walk down the hallway side by side, neither one saying anything, and as odd at it seems, it was a comfortable sort of silence, like a mutual understanding.

they part ways in the parking lot — brad going left and patrice going right, and they kind of glance at each other for a second before they get into their cars.

and this happens again next week. and the week after that.

brad misses the third tuesday, and when he reappears the next week, patrice looks up at him when he walks in the room, something like relief in his face, like he thought maybe brad wasn’t coming back.

it feels weird, because he thinks that maybe — _maybe_ — patrice looks forward to seeing him.

they do their usual routine, but this time, brad stops patrice in the parking lot right before they part ways.

“would you want to get coffee after next time?” he asks, heart fluttering in his chest, and patrice’s face just _lights_ up, and it’s the first time brad has ever really seen him smile like this. it absolutely melts his heart, and he’s pretty sure that he’s in trouble.

“yeah, okay,” patrice replies brightly, that smile still on his face. “sure.”

the next tuesday, they meet at a coffee shop on a corner, and patrice has that huge grin on his face again, and brad is pretty sure it’s one of the best things he’s ever seen.

they sit outside at a rickety metal table and talk for what feels like too short of a time, because it’s late and they both need to go home, so patrice stands up and takes their empty cups to the trash before turning back around to look at him.

“what?” brad asks, thinking maybe one of them had left something on the table by accident, but patrice just smiles at him, and it makes his stomach do flips.

“just keeping with tradition,” he says before he turns to walk to his car, and brad is so baffled that he just stands there for a second, trying to figure out how he managed to meet someone so completely wonderful.

**

it’s in the parking lot one night that brad asks patrice if he would mind coming to his family’s house, since his mom has insisted that he come for brad’s birthday.

patrice breaks into that smile again, nodding. “of course,” he says, looking absolutely overjoyed, as if brad just told him he’d won the lottery.

they drive for what feels like ages, and the _original_ plan was for them to alternate, but patrice is too nice to wake him up when he falls asleep in the passenger seat with his head on the seatbelt.

it feels like everyone’s waiting at the house for them, and brad’s mom opens the door before patrice can even reach for the doorbell.

there’s cake and those corny little party hats, and he’s so overwhelmed by everything that he doesn’t notice when patrice produces a small bag with tissue paper neatly fluffed at the top.

“like, for _me_?” brad says, because he didn’t think patrice was going to get him anything, which was really a terrible assumption on his part, considering who patrice is. he’s called a saint at the hospital for a reason.

“yes, for _you_,” he answers with an amused smile, shaking his head.

brad pulls the tissue paper out, and down at the bottom of the bag, and his face lights up, because it’s a nice, brand new ball cap.

“your old one is, uh, a little sad,” patrice explains as brad is rather childishly putting it on sideways.

“how do i look?” he asks, grinning like he’s just made me funniest joke in the world, and patrice’s gaze flickers across brad’s face momentarily.

“perfect,” he answers.

the cake is brought out after, and there’s the obligatory awkward singing of “happy birthday” before brad’s mom asks, “what’re you going to wish for?”

brad’s not sure at first. there are lots of things he could wish for, but then he thinks about patrice, who deserves all the wishes in the world, and he blows the candles out with a single breath, a tiny swirl of smoke curling up into the air, and when he looks up again, everyone is clapping, and patrice has a smile on his face.

“what’d you wish for?” he asks him later.

brad just shrugs, a secretive, smug sort of smile on his face.


End file.
